But outside, the puppies raised a fuss, their noise sounding more like true barking than the friendly yips they would use to beg attention from anyone they knew. He found Jessie’s worried eyes at the same moment he identified the odor that she had—a smell that every barn or stable owner feared above all others.
“Fire!” he shouted, hearing a rumble like rolling thunder. “Hell—the horses! We have to get them out, now—all the animals.”
He threw open the door and immediately sucked in a choking lungful reeking with the odor of gasoline. Cinders floated on the dark air, and flame lit the wall above the bin where the wood shavings they used for stall bedding were stored—shavings he knew instantly must have been intentionally soaked with fuel.
As they moved out, horses whinnied, instinct causing them to kick at their confines. The puppies’ barks turned to yelps as they pawed frantically at the chain links of their kennel door.
“Look!” cried Jessie, gesturing toward the sound of thunder, the narrowing gap where the outer metal door was closing.
“Gretel, Voraus!” she shouted, followed by another, indecipherable command. The Rottweiler bolted past Zach, launching herself at the narrowing gap with a terrifying snarl.
A thud rattled the metal as the animal struck it, hitting the closed door hard enough to dent it. Undeterred by the collision, the animal ran around searching for another exit, her muscular body silhouetted by flame.
“It’s up above us, too,” Jessie cried, pointing toward the open hayloft—an insulated hatchway that was supposed to stay closed. Smoke was spilling from the opening, the pull-down staircase dangling halfway to the floor.
Zach ran to the door but could barely budge it. It scarcely opened an inch before it slammed hard into something. He tried several times to rattle it open, but there was no budging it.
“Jammed shut!” he shouted, knowing now for certain that the arsonist had meant to trap them inside.
“I’ve got the pups,” Jessie called, bent low as she unlatched the kennel. The pups burst out, whining and cowering.
“Take them into the office,” he yelled, coughing on the thickening smoke, “and see if you can break out one of the windows behind my desk and get out that way.”
“Come with me,” she pleaded. “We’ll get outside and call for help.”
“Be careful out there— Take your dog,” he said, “and I’ll meet you soon as I can. I have to get the horses out.”
“Get them out how?” She panted as she spoke, checking the advancing flames with a terrified glance.
“Just get in there and get going,” he said, pushing her toward the office. “And close the door behind you, or the fresh air from the windows’ll blow this fire all to hell.”
* * *
Heart punching at her breastbone, Jessie called to Gretel. The Rottweiler responded instantly, but it took several frantic moments for Jessie to coax, then drag the terrified pups into the office with them. Before she closed the door behind them, she searched the smoke for Zach, who had disappeared down the aisle where a dozen stalls faced each other.
Was there another exit back there? A way out for him and the horses?
All she saw was a silhouette, the faint suggestion of a figure moving. Praying for his safety, she closed herself inside the office with Gretel and the dogs.
Though the air was better inside, she soon saw she had her own problems. The windows behind Zach’s desk were higher off the ground than she’d remembered, and their narrow height would make it a challenge getting the dogs and herself out. And what if they were waiting outside for her—the monsters who had set this fire?
The lights flickered and went out, plunging the room into a darkness broken only by the dawn-lit windows. A pair of small windows, each one barely tall enough for her to squeeze through, that now offered her sole chance of escape.
With no other choice, she knocked aside the chair, then shoved the desk against the wall, her strength fueled by the adrenaline pounding through her body. As she climbed up onto the desk’s surface, she realized she would need the chair. The window was a single pane, not designed to open.
As all three canines milled about nervously below her, she swung the chair against the glass, only to have it bounce back, jarring her shoulder and sending fresh pain through her healing hand. But there was no time to worry whether she’d reinjured it. No option to do anything but clench the metal chair legs harder and try again.
With the third direct hit, cracks formed a spider’s web in the glass. With the fourth, the window shattered, and the air rushed in, fresh and cold but welcome, though she was coughing as she pulled off her jacket.
Wrapping it around her arm, she knocked away the worst of the shards and looked to Gretel, then repeated her earlier command, “Voraus!” and stepped aside.
The Rottweiler clambered through the window, where she would range widely, searching for anyone who might be lurking. Where she would take down an armed man if she found one, waiting to pick off those emerging from the barn.
With Gretel gone, Jessie jumped down and collected the fuzzy blue-merle puppy.
“Sorry about this, cutie,” she rasped as she shoved the struggling animal out the open window. The puppy yelped as it tumbled five feet, but immediately jumped up and started barking.
The larger male pup was a little tougher, since he had seen his sister’s treatment and wanted no part of it. “Come on, boy,” Jessie huffed, tiring as she cornered him before sending him after his littermate.
Next, she pushed herself through, gritting her teeth as a remaining shard of glass bit through her shirt. Taking a deep breath, she rolled out the window, slamming down hard enough to send the air exploding from her lungs with a noisy grunt.
Lying on her back, she looked up at the smoke darkening the dawn sky. In some places, an eerie glow broke through the blackness—fire breaking to curl around the edges of the structure’s roof.
An awful chorus paralyzed her: the crackling and the hissing, the whining groan of burning timber. From inside, she heard the desperate neighs, a pounding and a gut-wrenching scream she feared might be a horse’s.
What if it’s Zach? He had seemed so certain of himself, so commanding when he’d given her instructions, that she’d more than half expected him to be here waiting when she got out. Instead, she felt his absence like a hollow in her heart.
Call for help, and get the door, she heard him tell her, in a voice so clear and present he might have been speaking right beside her instead of in her head.
The thought snapped her out of her daze, along with the licks and small nips of the two puppies and the twisting and popping of old lumber in the heat. Rising, she pulled out her phone and thanked her luck to find that she had enough of a signal to place a 9-1-1 call.
As she waited to connect, she coughed her way toward the front of the barn to reach the stuck door. At the corner, she froze for an instant, fear seizing in her chest at the thought of what—or whom—might be waiting for her. Waiting with another bullet, a bullet that would kill her this time.
Her brain flashed a reminder of Henry falling, bleeding, dying, a warning on his lips. It wasn’t Henry, but Zach that she thought of now. Zach, who might be in there dying, just as the second anonymous text message had warned her.
WHICH IS WORSE, FACING YOUR OWN DEATH OR THE KNOWLEDGE YOU COULD GET ANOTHER GOOD MAN KILLED?
In her ear, a woman’s voice spoke. “9-1-1 center. What is your emergency?”
“I’m at the Rayford Ranch off West Road,” she said, flinching at the sound of a loud bang from inside the building. “The barn’s on fire! There’s a man trapped inside! Hurry, please!”
But she already knew that waiting for a fire truck was hopeless, as far from town as the ranch was. Terrified as she was, there was no one else around to help. So instead of answering the o
perator’s questions, she shoved the phone into her pocket and forced herself to rush toward the rolling door, her frantic heart pulsing its way into her throat.
Between the dim light and the choking smoke, she didn’t see it at first. But as she felt around, her kneecap struck the jutting end of a metal crowbar that had been used to block the mechanism. It stuck out at an angle, jamming the door against the frame near ground level. She knelt to grasp the end with both hands, ignoring the pain that made it feel as if the small bones of her injured right hand were twisting apart as she jerked and pulled for all she was worth.
At the sound of Gretel’s deep bark, she glanced over her shoulder, some instinct making her duck her head—or maybe it was the whoosh of something solid swinging at her like a thick club.
What followed next was chaos, so fast and confused in the smoky darkness that she had little idea what was happening. Pain splashed across her vision in blue-hot bolts as a dark shape grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. The club rose over her skull, but everything was knocked aside as the Rottweiler slammed like a snarling twister into her attacker.
Thrown to the ground, Jessie crawled clear of the struggle. Barks, shouts and a rough curse ripped through the swirling smoke—all punctuated by a booming crack and Gretel’s yelp of pain.
“No!” Jessie shrieked, rising with the intent of hurling herself at the gunman. But he was gone already, running amid several shouting voices, and moments later, a man’s strong arms wrapped around her neck and shoulders and swung her back away from the door.
“Zach!” she cried, relief exploding through her terror. “He’s got a gun! He’s—”
“He took off! Leave him to Virgil and the others. I’ve got to get this door open for the horses!” he rasped, triggering a round of coughing.
“I thought you were trapped. How’d you get out?” she said, but he was too busy throwing his every bit of brawn against the crow bar to answer.
With a squealing noise, it finally pulled free, and he yelled at her. “Get out of the way!”
She stumbled back and, as he yanked open the door, a small herd stampeded out through the thick smoke.
Still too close for safety, Jessie took a step back, but one panicked animal abruptly wheeled around, slamming her hard with one huge shoulder.
The last thing she remembered was pitching sideways, followed by a sickening jolt of pain.
Chapter 14
Jessie’s head was still pounding when she woke up, the light exploding in her eyes like shattering glass. She raised an arm to block it out, groaning with her body’s stiffness, abruptly aware of where she still must be. But how had she gotten to this bedroom? Had Zach carried her here, just as he had carried her to safety before the roof of the barn collapsed?
She racked her brain searching for an answer, but couldn’t recall anything beyond an EMT checking her over while an ash-coated but uninjured Zach went to help corral the frightened horses while volunteer firefighters worked to keep the blaze from spreading.
The EMT had urged her to let them load her in the ambulance to get checked out at the E.R. Though she was aching everywhere, she’d argued, she remembered, thinking how upset her mother would be to learn she was in the hospital again. Forgetting for a few merciful moments that her mother was no longer around to worry about her well-being.
Her other memories of the fire were no more than a swirl of smoke, hot ash and a jumble of emotion. She remembered her relief that Zach had safely escaped, her gratitude that Gretel had driven off her attacker and her horror at the scope of the destruction. There had been grief, too, when she’d spotted the Rottweiler on her side, panting, her black hair matted with the blood that pumped from her side. Her big brown eyes liquid with pain, Gretel had whined and tried to crawl to Jessie when she saw her. Tried to lick the hand of the person who’d become her caretaker this past year, who had slipped her treats from the table and secretly wrapped pale arms around her thick neck, weeping into her fur after Jessie’s mother’s death.
Jessie felt her breath hitch, her eyes burn. Had Zach had her poor baby, who’d fought so hard to protect her, put to sleep already? Or had Gretel bled out just like Henry—another life she’d been responsible for bringing to this awful place?
Overwhelmed as she was, she barely noticed the child slipping into her room and moving to her bedside, until the piping little voice cut through her daze.
“I made you a picture. To help you feel all better.”
Jessie’s heart sagged at the sight of Eden, looking so much like her sister she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it earlier. A tear leaked out, rolled along Jessie’s face, but she moved to wipe it.
Eden stroked her arm with one small hand. “It’s okay. My grandma cries a lot, too. She gots a real bad hurt place on her heart ’cause of Ian.”
Jessie turned her eyes to look at the girl, only to see brilliant crayoned colors only inches from her face. Colors that seared her eyes and intensified the throbbing in her head. In self-defense, she accepted the page and croaked out, “Th-thank you, Eden. This is very pretty.”
Holding it farther back to see it, she tried to focus on the wash of colors. Mostly oranges and yellows, with dark clouds that resembled— She squinted, making out the houselike shape of the barn with fire shooting out of it. And a stick figure with flames for hair.
Surreptitiously, she felt her loose waves, relieved to find them smoky-smelling and gritty but still present. “I like the way you made it sparkle.”
Eden nodded, regarding her with a serious expression. “Glitter makes everything better. Only Uncle Zach doesn’t like it ’cause he’s a boy.”
“What do boys know?” Jessie said, faking a smile and poking playfully at the child’s tummy. And aching as she wondered if, when in Haley’s care, the girl had ever known even a fraction of the stability, the love and family that she’d found on this ranch.
Eden giggled, covering her mouth, and Jessie’s heart broke wide-open. For this tiny creature, this lively little sprite was her flesh, her blood, as close a relative as if Jessie herself had given her life. Just the thought of it brought tears to her eyes.
How, then, had Haley been able to simply walk away from a miracle like this? Had she done so with as little thought as when she’d turned her back on her twin and parents? Or had it happened as Jessie had guessed earlier? Had the little girl been found—or given into Mrs. Rayford’s keeping—after Haley’s murder?
“Eden!” scolded Mrs. Rayford as she fluttered through the doorway, wearing a neat lilac-colored pantsuit and a frown. “What are you doing in here? I told you to not to bother Miss Layton while she’s resting.”
Eden nodded, looking serious. “I fixed her hurt place with a picture.”
Jessie pushed up on her elbows, struggling not to wince at the flare of pain in her head. “It’s all right.” More than all right. She’s my family. My family, not yours. “I needed to get up, anyway. I’m getting your poor sheets and blankets filthy, for one thi—”
“Nonsense. You lie back and rest, and I’ll bring you some water—or anything you need.”
“I’ll be okay, but where’s Zach? I mean Mr. Rayford,” she amended, seeing a flicker of unease cross the older woman’s face. “Is he all right?”
Mrs. Rayford nodded. “The barn’s a total loss, an awful thing, but I thank God that my son came through it unharmed. The firefighters, too. They still have one truck out there, spraying water to cool the ruins.”
Jessie realized she must have been out much longer than she’d imagined. Probably as much from exhaustion as the bump on her head.
“Zach will want to talk to you as soon as he’s able,” Mrs. Rayford said. “But he had to take a couple of the injured horses to the vet’s. Your poor dog, too. He was worried.”
Jessie sat up straight to hear it. “My Gretel? She’s
still alive?”
The older woman shook her head, her blue eyes sympathetic. “I’m not sure, dear, but I do know Dr. Burton is a good man. If the animals can be saved, he’ll do it. If not—he’s a kind man. He won’t let them suffer.”
“What about the puppies?” Jessie blurted, then darted a guilty glance at Eden as she realized she should have never asked in front of her.
“Grandma won’t let me play with them,” Eden said cheerfully, “till they get a bath ’cause they’re all stinky.”
“They both seem fine,” Mrs. Rayford assured Jessie before turning to Eden. “Miss Layton needs her rest. But first, could you please go downstairs and get a glass of water for her? Ask Miss Althea to help you.”
There was a definite edge to Zach’s mother’s voice, even though she had tried to disguise it. She definitely wanted Eden as far from Jessie as could be managed.
“I can do it!” Eden shouted, speeding out of the room and clattering down the staircase.
“Before you go,” said Jessie, as the older woman turned to follow, “did the sheriff catch the man who set the fire?”
With a gasp, Zach’s mother stiffened. “Do you mean it wasn’t accidental? This—this person tried to burn the barn while the two of you were in it?”
The horror in her shaking voice made Jessie wish she could take back the question. But Nancy Rayford wasn’t four years old, and besides, the truth was out now.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” Jessie said.
“At least you did tell me.” Mrs. Rayford shook her head, tears welling in her blue eyes. “Unlike some people, who want to wrap me up in cotton and hide me in a closet somewhere. My son hasn’t said a word to me about this, not a single word, or the sheriff, either. No one has.”
“With everything that’s happened, I imagine Zach hasn’t had a chance to tell you.” Jessie wondered what she was doing, making excuses for him.
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